A Matter of Pride
by Violet Nyte
Summary: The day after a carousing Christmas party at Quatre's with the other former pilots, Heero learns a painful lesson in choosing his battles. (3x4, 6x2, hinted/unrequited 1x2) Post-canon, including EW. Set in AC 201. "Side-story" of sorts to a planned epic, see end notes for more information.


LSC / 11-17-12  
(A Matter of Pride)  
rated: T - language, content, violence  
Gundam Wing shounen-ai/yaoi - (3x4, 6x2, hinted 1+2)

**A Matter of Pride**

* * *

I woke with the disconcerting sensation of having been battered and assaulted, and for a blistering moment of willful confusion I expected hospital monitor beeping and the sharp aroma of disinfectant lingering in the air. Instead I reluctantly wrenched open my eyes to be confronted with high-thread count cotton sheets on a luxurious feather mattress. My ungainly face-down sprawl upon them gave sharp contrast to the refined elegance of the understated decor. Only by the vaguely familiar red-on-gold draperies, half-parted to let in a soft stream of morning light, was I able to place my surroundings. I knew this room. It was one of Quatre's many guest rooms in his finely appointed and rarely used home in Dusseldorf, and the one always set aside for my use on occasions such as this.

The geographic placement of my confusion lent itself easily to the recovery of further memory, which included a great deal of drinking and Christmas festivities. I'd engaged to the point of excess under dire threat enforced by gleeful cooperation between Quatre and Duo, and the resultant hangover lay as the somewhat incongruous explanation for my current discomfort. It was nice to know, at least, that I hadn't self-destructed myself within Wing again, or thrown myself out a hospital window sans parachute. I could not be entirely certain that some matter of crashing and falling had not occurred last night, however, but I seemed to have my arms and legs intact.

My clothes, including the Santa hat that Duo jammed on to my head at some point in the evening, lay jumbled in the center of the otherwise impeccable room. I transferred the pile closer to the unassuming duffel bag slumped over the settee before heading for the shower. The pounding hot water worked itself into a rhythm against the throb of the alcohol-burdened headache, but once clean I at least felt marginally more alert and ready to face the world. The world being, at that moment, my friends and troublemakers from the night before who were hopefully just as miserable as myself; not that I wished them ill, of course, but otherwise I could anticipate a great deal of good-natured teasing from Duo. The Santa hat, and my foggy recollection of how I'd acquired it, stood testimony to the poor decision making skills I'd exercised in showing a lack of restraint with the eggnog.

I dressed and ran a comb through the unruly mass of my hair before going in search of the others. Up and down the hall were closed doors. I knew Duo's room to be catty-corner to my own, and Wufei's directly across. Beside Wufei and across from Duo was, technically, the room Quatre had the servants air out and prepare for Trowa, but naturally it would have been unoccupied last night. They went through a great deal of trouble to keep their relationship a secret, owing to Quatre's high-profile political and economic status. Being an ex-Gundam pilot and CEO of a multi-billion, trans-Earth Sphere financial empire left Quatre under a great deal of scrutiny, especially considering the conservative background of the L4-based Winner family. Naturally that secrecy failed to include the inner sanctum of trust between us, their friends, as I distinctly could recall Quatre straddling Trowa's lap for a wicked rendition of _Santa Baby_, cheered on and shamelessly encouraged by Duo.

My searching through the quiet mansion turned up not a whisper of the other pilots, although it did speak volumes as to the nature of our debauchery in the front parlor. The Christmas tree, still alight and glowing with cheer, stood watch over the disastrous ruin of tinsel, garlands, bows, empty glasses, wrapping paper, and someone's pants. Judging by the faded denim chic and length of the leg, they were Trowa's, and I dimly recalled Quatre's reassurance they would stay and pick up a bit before heading upstairs with the rest of us. I gave the fallen garment a wide berth and continued my inventory of the rooms.

In the back of the house I found a sun room cleared of nearly everything but a rolled out foam mat and Wufei. His back was to me, so I was able to observe from the doorway unnoticed. He wore loose linen trousers and a dark tank top, and the ink-black waterfall of his hair fell unbound across his shoulders. The gold-dark sheen of his bare arms flowed into the streams of sunlight in a controlled series of movements. Abruptly he lowered his stance and turned to face me with unerring awareness.

"Good morning, Yuy," he said.

"Morning." I felt at once sloven and unkept in comparison to his cool, refined appearance. Of course Wufei would have escaped the foolishness of our Christmas revelry. He'd sat stiff and square-shouldered on the couch with a mostly untouched glass of eggnog, from which he would take tight-lipped sips only when plied upon by Quatre and Duo's combined charms. Normally I would have joined him, except last night's unwelcomed guest apparently triggered within me the undoubtedly regretful urge to… show off? Throw myself into the chaos for once? Say yes to whatever a certain jovial ex-pilot asked of me? My hangover was so complete that I spared little thought for its motivating factor, other than my own ill-formed choices.

"Is anyone else awake?" Wufei asked.

I shook my head. "Didn't see them."

"Ah. Yes, I would think so." He cast me a sly look, and I braced for the inevitable. "I will admit to being somewhat surprised to see you awake and upright at all, much less this early. Your fortitude is astounding, Yuy."

I scowled and said nothing. Wufei chuckled to himself, taking amusement from my prickly reaction, and shifted again into his _kata_ exercises. I remained in the doorway to watch, arms folded over my chest. After a while I offered to match him, and Wufei accepted. We trained together often at Preventers, to equal satisfaction. Wufei confided to me that no other opponent dealt much of a challenge, which was a sentiment I returned.

I stripped off my bulky sweater — a present from Duo last night, although by the snickering way he'd given it to me I suspected the jarring turquoise and purple pattern had not been selected with sincerity. I tossed it to the corner and went through my own careful stretches and warm-ups before facing Wufei. I knew immediately it was going to be one of those training matches when Wufei beat me easily. He had the advantage of full health, on top of his already formidable technical prowess, although I enjoyed the challenging attempt to beat my hangover as severely as it had beaten me.

Although I expected to lose, I did not expect to quite so literally have my ass handed to me. Wufei flipped me neatly into the mat with a throw so picture-perfect it was as if my able body had been replaced by a novice recruit. I felt immediately glad this particular sparring incident had not taken place at Preventers, to harm the formidable reputation of Agent Heero "Steel Eyes" Yuy. I'd become aware of the nickname only at the ESUN Eve War Commemoration, during which a remarkably tipsy Lucrezia Noin pulled me aside for a slanderous amount of unwanted gossip. I'd neglected her the full of my attention due to the maddeningly distracting sight of a certain salvage ship captain falling victim to the persuasive charms by a tall, blonde Preventers agent in a sleek designer suit. I'd kept hold of the most popular nicknames for Wufei, and in case he became too haughty in his victory I planned to use them.

Wufei offered me a polite hand up from the floor, so I knew it was not his slow, sardonic clapping that interrupted my humiliating defeat. Duo stood in the doorway. He wore a shimmering crimson robe and possibly not much else besides the gold flash of his crucifix, just barely visible in the lazy gap between the silk and his pale chest. The drape of him against the door frame was impossibly sensual, a vision only aided by the sloppy tossed-together plait of his hair. It looked as if he'd thrown just enough braid into the cascade of his hair to keep it pulled back, and I bristled at the implication it had come undone at all.

"Good morning, Maxwell," said Wufei.

"Morning." he replied around a yawn. Duo eased himself up from the door to only a marginally more focused stance. "Got your ass handed to you, Heero. Or should I say, Santa." The edge of his wide grin was impossibly wicked. Even Wufei snicked a muted laugh at my expense.

I mumbled something that might have contained the words _morning_ and _Duo_ and refused Wufei's extended hand. I stubbornly hauled myself upright and favored Wufei with a stiff inclination of my head to show he'd thoroughly beaten me enough for one morning.

"Are the others awake?" asked Wufei. Seeing Duo out of bed was a good indication that was the case, since I knew it unlikely he would have risen for any other reason than to avoid lazing about while the rest of us were having fun.

"Yup. Kat's in the kitchen with Trowa attempting to whip up breakfast. Gotta get some bacon grease and pancake syrup into Heero's stomach to soak up all that eggnog, am I right?" He shot me another irrepressible smile.

A voice, deep and rumbling and loathsome, drifted down the hall. Duo tipped his head toward the sound like a puppet on a string, and the brilliant quality of his smile took on a softer meaning. "Here," he called. "I'm in here."

The hand appeared first, sliding around Duo's waist with infuriating familiarity. Plaid pajama bottoms smoothed a straddling crudity against Duo's trim hips as the tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome, utterly unwelcome intruder joined us. I clenched my jaw against the righteous upsurge of disgust and anger. He hadn't the decency to dress first, and I found the flow of his white-gold hair against the sculpted nudity of his chest an obscenity.

"Morning," he said. Not to me or Wufei, but to Duo, who smiled at him with a sparkling, dazzling thrill. The man lowered his lips to the upturned trust of Duo's mouth and claimed a long, savoring kiss.

"Good morning, Agent Wind," said Wufei.

I said nothing, which was for the best. I did not trust myself to remain civil.

"I told you, it's back to Zechs now," he said. He pulled Duo against his chest with a coziness I found nauseating.

I remembered the high, clear sound of Duo's laughter. _No, Zechs, stop it. Give me that — Heero's going to be Santa now. _He was smiling at me, not the man he'd dragged along to crash our annual reunion party, and I knocked back the offered shot as a mercenary means to keep the wide pull of his mouth anchored in my direction all night. I recalled the sway of him against me, drunk and giddy, as he locked an arm around my waist for balance. The hat fell against my face, the white fur ruff brushing my lips like a kiss, as Duo laughed and grinned and tried to keep his balance for the game. Standing there in the regretful morning-after, I swallowed and tasted bile. Despite my efforts, Duo and Zechs had gone upstairs arm and arm. He shrieked and kicked, wild with glee, as Zechs scooped him across the threshold of the guest room. _Night, Santa! _Duo had yelled, his voice disappearing into a yipping howl of laughter as Zechs misstepped and banged Duo's head into the door frame.

Commander Une and Vice-Foreign Minister Relena Darlian should never have pushed through the public relations nightmare of reintroducing Agent Wind's notorious persona into society. He'd chosen to continue using the alias Zechs Merquise to avoid conflict with the Peacecraft name that Relena wielded like a sledgehammer through legislative entanglements. I'd been head of her security at the time of Zechs's unveiling; I could have saved myself a great deal of future heartbreak by simply sneaking into the prodigal son's rooms in the Sanq Palace and forging an assassination attempt. I'd dealt with enough threats and plots on that theme after Relena's official press conference held shortly before her second annual War Orphans' Charity Ball, the debutante occasion to reveal Zechs Merquise had not, in fact, obliterated himself from existence in Libra's destruction.

"Agent Merquise," clarified Wufei.

Zechs rested his chin atop Duo's head and looked between the two of us, sweat-soaked and, in my case, slightly winded. Wufei was cool as a breeze, unruffled by my lackluster efforts at keeping pace through his rigorous form

"Are we interrupting?" Zechs asked.

I could not abide the fact he referred to Duo as part of some plural, a nebulous _we_ as if Zechs belonged. It had only been four days ago that Preventers Agent Zechs Merquise and Captain Duo Maxwell crossed paths at the Eve War Commemoration and left together, to the scandalized horror of Quatre, who texted me needless updates. _Z+D at bar cozy. Z+D can yu belieev it? _Quatre had been a bit drunk to be sending me messages, as evident by their sloppy construction, as he was normally far more composed in written form. _Z+D gone togeher! wow_

Zechs was not the first date Duo had dragged to our Christmas, or for that matter any number of social engagements pressed to the ex-Gundam pilots. At this time of year we were always in demand for photo-ops and dedications and back-patting political congratulations that we hadn't all gone mad with power in peace. Duo used to shun such events, derisive of being used to complete a pretty picture of the five of us in our civilian guises, and the first few times he attended were only as Quatre's plus-one. They'd stopped that game quick enough once a particularly salacious article appeared full of suppositions and slander. Since beginning his salvage business, Duo ruthlessly turned the photo-ops into publicity, and now he rubbed elbows just as smoothly as Quatre in order to drum up investors and contracts for his small but thriving company.

Unfortunately his repeated incursions into the public spotlight were usually made on the arm of some devastatingly handsome young man, and just because Duo arrived on one arm did not necessarily mean he left on the same. At least for our more private gatherings Duo brought only those he anticipating being worthwhile of staying with until morning — a fortunate thing, given the potential awkwardness of it all. This offered a partial explanation to why Zechs's presence rankled me so. Maybe it was the slightly-possessive way he captured Duo'd fickle attention, or because I'd fought against him in the war and knew his determination and skill firsthand. I was loathed to see the Lightning Count's dashing glamour turned against Duo to ensnare him as easily as Tallgeese's beam saber cut through Leos. Equally likely for the churning loathing in my stomach at the sight of Zechs wrapped around Duo was that I knew him, unlike the others who I met and then immediately dismissed from memory.

Wufei idly stroked aside the unbound gloss of his hair. "Not at all," he said. He was being far too amiable in my opinion.

"May I join you?" asked Zechs.

Wufei opened his mouth to refuse. I saw the denial in his face and the sudden shift of his weight to one leg. I jumped into the resultant pause like a detonation blast. "Yes."

Everyone looked at me. I stared directly at Zechs. "I'll spar with you."

Duo laughed. "You guys are taking Boxing Day way too literally. Come on, let's see if Little Lord Winner has successfully figured out how to run his kitchen without a housekeeper. I'm hungry."

"I accept," said Zechs.

I nodded and rolled my shoulder to work out the stiffness from Wufei's throw. Wufei glanced at me with both eyebrows raised, as if to say, _you stubborn idiot._

Alarm sparked across the brilliance of Duo's face. He straightened out from his slump against Zechs and came toward me, speaking low and quick with urgency. "Heero, don't be stupid. I've never seen you get as drunk as you did last night, and Wufei just flipped you over like a ragdoll. Even Perfect Soldiers can get Perfect Hangovers, you know. You're just going to get your ass kicked."

Zechs stepped to the side to begin his stretches. Rather than stick around for Duo's endearing pleas, Wufei went over to critique Zechs's form. I gave Duo a level look. "I'm fine."

Duo rolled his eyes. "Sure you are. I hope you love kissing that mat, 'cause I'm gonna laugh when you get creamed again." He stalked away from me, and the short hem of his robe twitched maddeningly around the lean line of his thigh. Judging by the furrow of Zechs's brow as he listened, Duo doubtlessly imparted to him the same warning. I hoped he wasn't telling Zechs to go easy on me, as I fully intended to make up for my earlier graceless defeat against Wufei. I'd seen Zechs on the mats at Preventers, and while competent, he was a far cry from Wufei's relative perfection. I would grudgingly concede that Zechs excelled in marksmanship, and he stood among the highest tier of pilots, but even with the disadvantage of my momentary physical imperfection I felt confident I could make a fair show of things.

Mostly I just wanted to hit something, and Zechs provided the perfect target as he was the entire source of my fury.

Wufei and Duo moved to the shelter of the doorway to watch as Zechs and I faced each other. Duo cupped his hands to his mouth and boomed a commentary. "Facing off the center ring! At 175 centimeters and — what are you, Heero? Same as me, right? 57? 58? We'll say — At 175 centimeters and 56 kilograms, wearing yoga pants he probably stole from Wufei and white undershirt that last saw its fashion hey-day in AC 190, the man with the glare, Zero-One himself, Heero Yuy! And in the plaid corner, looking mighty fine in hardly nothing at all, at an astounding 184 centimeters and (what the fuck do you weigh?), the mysterious and dashing man behind the mask, Zechs Merquise!"

We'd just circled each other, each in a readied stance, while Duo blathered. I didn't need reminded of the fact that I'd failed to gain adequate height in the intervening years since the war ended. I knew Zechs's height gave him reach. I knew as well that in his last mission he'd taken a concussion blast to the right temple, resulting in a minor visual disruption on that side. Medical had cleared him for only half-duty for another two weeks, until the damage was repaired, and so I was shrewdly going to use even that slight weakness to my advantage.

I struck first, more as a test than an actual blow, and he blocked easily. After that first strike came the rest, and it was Antarctica all over again. Only this time, instead of a borrowed Heavyarms and a ruined arm, my disadvantage came in the form of relentless failure to react on time. I let Zechs land entirely too many hits before getting one through his defense in return, but the longer we went at each other the more I realized my dream of a decisive victory was improbable. A sea-sick queasiness shook weakness into my elbows and knees, and there was entire graceless shame in the way I took a swinging kick to the hip. We were both pulling our strength up until that moment, and I'll admit to being first to escalate the supposedly friendly sparring.

"Go Zechs!" cheered Duo. He may have been shouting my name in with the encouragements before that; I hadn't been paying attention, but that was what I heard, in Duo's caressing way; _Go Zechs_. It sunk deep under my skin and ignited something I'd been trying to unsuccessfully ignore for six long years. I glanced at Duo for a fractured heartbeat, just long enough to see the glimmering shine of his smile and how it was not for me that his mouth opened to say, "Get 'm, baby!"

_Baby?_ That was when I closed a fist into Zechs's ribs.

To his credit, he didn't even flinch. Our eyes met. I felt the feral curl of my lips pulling away. He flashed me a grin in return, and the next flurry of strikes and guards held real potential. It must have seemed no different to Wufei and Duo, or they noticed the sparking tension explode into a genuine fight and chose not to stop us. I doubted that to be the case, given Wufei's strict adherence to protocol, and neither Zechs nor myself were wearing any protective gear.

It nearly descended into undignified hair-pulling before I caught a glancing victory right into Zechs's pretty-boy face; my knuckles split on his teeth, and that went against all manner of proper _kumite_, so that was the precise moment Wufei realized something had changed. Unfortunately for him, we weren't exactly inclined to listen to his admonishments.

Duo joined in, a bit belated, with an excess of amusement. "Play nice, you two!" he shouted. He didn't understand the seriousness of the matter. I wasn't out to _play_ with Zechs. I was out to prove something, to both him and myself.

It was going to end all too soon in bitter defeat. The moment laid out before me with unnerving foresight; Zechs's sweep into my ankles, my sudden unbalance, and the mat against my face. Well, I wasn't going to let that happen. I grabbed Zechs and wrenched him down with me. It left my fall unchecked, and my nose cracked into the flimsy softness offered by the thin sheet of foam with an outburst of agony. I grunted, some out rush of air laced with pain against my will, and echoing that was a shrill sound of dismay from Duo.

"Hey! Stop! Fucking goddammit!" Duo often resorted to profanity when other avenues proved ineffective.

Already Zechs and I were rolling over each other in a fierce grappling effort for supremacy, heedless of the rousing protests we were starting to attract. More voices joined in, streaming over the harsh growls from Zechs and my own grit-teeth snarling. Absurdly I thought again of Antarctica and the comparisons, only Duo's furious cursing and Quatre's breathless bewilderment were a far cry from Relena dangling out a helicopter.

Then, as now, it ended without a satisfactory conclusion. I probably could have turned things around in my favor, given time. So what if Zechs managed a grappling submission hold and pummeled one-two-three, true-to-name lightning strikes into my face? I'd never needed a pretty face, unlike him, with his vanity and preening and designer suits and shameless flirting. I had my strength, my ruthlessness, my utter, hopeless _devotion_. Six years made painful with longing and cowardice, and how dare _he_ make it look so easy to capture that precious affection.

Hands hauled us apart. Wufei and Trowa grabbed Zechs to pull him off me, and the big blonde gave up the struggle fast when Wufei knocked a rough, "accidental" elbow into him. That left Duo and Quatre to rush at me in equal concern. Duo's brassy drawl tangled around Quatre's airy alto and left their words in a jumble, although the meaning came through clear enough. I jerked my elbow free of Duo's gallant offering of support, but quickly found my body unresponsive in rising unaided.

Duo dragged my arm over his shoulders. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He shouted this fury not at me, but up at Zechs, who stood pinned between a wary Wufei and Trowa.

"Heero, oh my Lord." Quatre's hand stretched toward my face with flinching apprehension and then pulled away without completing its journey. "Is it broken? Do you think it's broken? Duo, get him into the kitchen before blood gets all over the floor."

"Let's go, Heero. The maid's never going to forgive you if she's got to clean up anymore of your mess." Between the two of them, Duo and Quatre fussed enough that I managed the short walk to the kitchen in twice the time it should have taken. Duo refused to release half my weight, which he held hostage across his shoulders as if I were some invalid. Quatre caught drips of crimson with his bare hands, rather than break away to fetch a towel, and I tipped my head back in a vain attempt to spare the flooring.

Wufei's voice burst into berating shouts once we left, but with the sharpness of his rebuke growing fainter as we got further away from the sun room. At my side, Duo muttered his dark and dire opinion of the fight in a steady, low-volume stream of disapproval.

"On the stool, there. Under the light," Quatre ordered. He spun a handful of paper towels from the roll and shoved them under the faucet. He tossed the damp wad to Duo. "I'll find a first aid kit."

Duo nodded and forced me into position. "Stay still, you crazy bastard." He voice softened to the insult into an affection.

I kept an unwavering fascination on the tender concern in his eyes as Duo leaned close and brushed the cold, wet towel over my face. Pinpricks of discomfort bloomed fully into pain as the paper towel came away redder and redder with my blood. I hissed an involuntary wince as Duo scrubbed at the radiating agony of my nose, which was what I suspected Quatre feared broken.

"You're gonna get some shiner," Duo said. He spoke to me gently, as if I were in need of comfort. "Good thing we've already gone through all the photo-ops. Press would have a field day with that one, unless we convinced them you'd gotten bashed up defending some poor innocent kid against street toughs or muggers or some shit. It'd be like the time you got your ass blown up at Corsica. Hero Preventers Agent Diverts Crisis! They didn't even make good on the pun with your name, I guess because of Une's gag order on the full details. You were just some anonymous, reckless agent."

I pressed experimentally at the bridge of my nose and ignored the violent protest of nerves this action elicited. "I don't think it's broken." My evaluation of the injury may have held more weight had the words not come out thick and stubbed with the rounded effort.

"_I dunbt bhingk ibs boken_," Duo mimicked. "Fucking hell, Heero. Look at you." He shook his head with bewildering fondness.

Quatre returned, flanked by Trowa and Wufei. Trailing behind them in hangdog shame was Zechs, who stayed in the doorway as the others came over to assess the marks of my inglorious defeat. Duo stayed at my side, fussing along with the rest as Quatre inexpertly poked and prodded my face to assess the damage. I could tell the exact moment he noticed Zechs's presence, because the quiet smile dropped from his face. A cold look filled its place as Duo slowly puffed up like a cat, all bristled anger and spitting ire. He advanced on Zechs, who took a half-step back in retreat before offering a chagrined smile.

"Hey—" he started to say. The conciliatory tone likely precipitated some apology or excuse, but Duo shattered on him with startling intensity.

"Get the fuck over here!" Duo snarled. He grabbed Zechs's arm and jerked him from the kitchen. Duo's tirade was not lessened by the physical distance he was creating, as his voice climbed ever higher with his rising temper. I could hear the heavy stomp of his bare feet and the shuffle of Zechs getting dragged right along. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? Why the _hell_ would you do that to Heero? It's fucking Christmas, this is the _one_ goddamn time a year I get to hang out with the guys without any stupid bullshit—"

Whatever Zechs broke in to defend himself with, it lacked Duo's powerful lungs to project it between the walls and open doorways. I heard only the muffled lift and drop of his tone, which shifted from pacifying to antagonistic. Wufei shifted uneasily, likely uncomfortable with the emotional outburst his attempted morning exercise had dissolved into, and then fled with a muttered excuse about starting to pack. Quatre and Trowa exchanged one of those looks between them that bordered on telepathic.

"Shut up!" Duo yelled. "Don't tell me that! What are you, five years old? Who fucking cares if he started it, you never should have—" A stretch of silence, punctuated now by the distinct, sharp sound of Zechs returning fire, rather than trying to patch over the difficulty. "What do you mean, last night? What _about_ last night? You mean when I had _fun_ with my _friends_?" Duo was going to rapture Zechs's eardrums if he kept up the same formidable volume much longer.

"Heero," said Quatre. "Are you, ah, hungry? Trowa and I made breakfast. Trowa, go get Wufei again. I'll go — I'll go tell Duo that we can all just eat. I'm sure it was accident, with Zechs—" He flustered through the extreme awkwardness of the situation with admirable aplomb, but Trowa ignored him. He was staring at the open doorway that led from the kitchen to the rest of the house, straining with the same feigned disinterest as I to hear the rest of Zechs and Duo's fight.

"Get out!" shrieked Duo. "Get out, get out, get out!"

That's when Quatre bolted, with Trowa right on his heels. I wasn't sure of their intentions, and it was a long minute more before I dared to investigate. I could no longer hear Duo's yelling or Zechs's rumbling replies, but as I ventured out to check the fallout I heard two distinct noises spread out into the house. First the slam of the heavy front doors, and I wondered with a small hysteric curiosity if anyone had permitted Zechs to at least put on a shirt first. Second was the sharp, reverberating pound of footsteps flying up the stairs. I found Quatre and Trowa in the front entryway, heads together and whispering, and rather than disturb them I made a hasty retreat.

Somehow that retreat turned into my feet carrying me up the stairs. I knew better than to go swatting hornet's nests, so I wasn't sure what inane motive I thought to indulge. I'd ruined Duo's Christmas, apparently, and the last thing I needed to do was draw attention to that fact.

The door to Duo's room was open. He stood with his back to the door in the middle of chaos, and it nearly impressed me with how quickly he could disintegrate a borrowed room into the mess typical of his own habits. The slumped line of his shoulders twitched over something difficult that he was trying to smother with his hands. I froze, and then hastily tried to flee.

He caught me, by whatever barely perceptible sound I made. Duo whirled around and attacked the damp across his cheeks with brutal, frantic brushing. He sniffed up the remainder of tears and tried to smile. "Hey. Didn't see ya there."

"I just walked in." I hesitated, and then offered with ashamed neglect, "Sorry."

Duo shrugged. "Don't be. I shouldn't be sulking up here anyway." He tipped his face away with an almost shy indecency. "You probably heard all that, huh?"

I didn't know what to say.

Duo drew the gap in his robe a bit closer. The delicate hold he put forth into the silk struck me as inscrutably fragile, and I had to swallow a foolish urge to act upon the sudden swell of all the painful devotion I carried in my heart. He sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

The search of his gaze took me in with an earnestness that went beyond a mere glance. Duo crossed the distance between us and stood close, careless of his personal space. "Look at you," he said softly. His hand stretched forward my face and then hesitated. The fingers curled, grasping air instead of my cheek as intended. He pulled the hand away. "Oh, Heero. Just, look at you."

I could not possibly understand how he could say my name like that, or what he meant by the repeated mournful comments about my face. Idle curiosity sprung to mind about exactly how battered I looked, or why it was that Duo kept giving me that same sad glance.

Duo wavered on the cusp of becoming upset again. I could tell by the sudden luminous glow of his eyes and the quiver of his lip. "Zechs probably hates me now," he said. "We were supposed to go to this stupid winter cabin of his tomorrow, for a few days, since the Helen's docked in for repairs anyway. He said he'd teach me how to ski…"

Jealousy burned like an inferno in my heart, but then the fire extinguished under the despondent slump of Duo's beautiful face. I did not want to see him cry. I drew reluctant breath around the cold, dark lump of my chest and said, "It was my fault." I presented to him the split-open skin of my knuckles. "I'll call him and apologize. So there's no hard feelings."

"Really?" Duo brightened. "You'd do that?"

I nodded.

"Thanks." Duo tossed himself over me in a tight embrace. "You're the best, Heero."

Eventually he would release me, and we would go downstairs to eat breakfast with the others. Afterward I'd hold to my promise and call Zechs to repair the foundation of the very relationship I'd set out to sunder in the first place. The memory of eggnog and Santa hats and a drunk, sloppy kiss stolen beneath mistletoe would fade along with my bruises. Duo would go learn to ski, and I would return to my empty apartment and throw myself into a career where I got shot, and blown up, and could forget for maybe just one heartbeat the agony and ecstasy of my devotion.

I knew all this as surely as I knew my own heart. That the future was set did not matter, however. It didn't matter that I'd taken a beating to both my dignity and my body. The ache of my possibly broken nose faded to an inconsequential, easily forgotten burden. In that moment, for just that one moment, with my arms around Duo and the precious feel of him held close, I'd won.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

This is actually set during a post-canon timeline I've been developing for a future project. If you're interested in the setting and all that's going on with Heero, please check back for when I ultimately begin publishing the larger work that this is pulled from.

I wrote this after receiving a random story prompt, and I liked the resulting one-shot enough to see it published, so, I hope you enjoyed it. (For any of my regular readers - I'll return to working on the next chapter of Fly on Broken Wings now…)

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr


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